Draco Malfoy: Year 1, Not An Absolute Failure
by KolAberration
Summary: The Internet is fully saturated with HP Fanfiction. Those reading this hopefully view this as a good thing and won't mind one more. My 1st attempt at Fanfiction. This is a re-imaging of Slytherin House cuz in canon it's rarely in line with the Sorting Hat's description. Malfoy, Crabbe, Goyle, and Zabini will be the focus of this Fanfiction. T cuz I don't know what I'm doing yet.
1. Chapter 1: The Letter

_AN: This story is a reimagining of Slytherin House, the description of which by the Sorting Hat rarely matches the actual traits and behavior of its students, especially Draco Malfoy, Vincent Crabbe, and Gregory Goyle._

_Chapter 1: The Letter_

_July 24, 1991_

An envelope of yellow parchment, addressed in emerald green ink. Hardly unusual, and yet, as Dobby proffered this letter atop the many Father received every day, it made Draco's heart skip a beat. Taking a serpent-engraved letter-knife from Father's desk, Draco slid it carefully, painstakingly, under the wax seal of Hogwarts, School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. He licked his dry lips, and pried it open.

At that moment, Father burst into his study, imperious as ever in his ebony black robes, gripping his cane like an instrument of death. Snatching the letters from Dobby, the family House Elf, he started perusing the addresses. Draco cleared his throat, loudly.

Father looked up, annoyed, then saw the letter in Draco's hand. He smiled, one of his rare, genuine smiles, which perhaps a dozen people had seen in the last decade. "Your Hogwarts letter, Draco?"

Draco nodded. At his father's nod of approval, he lifted the flap of the envelope and slipped the letter out of it.

_Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry_

_Headmaster Albus Dumbledore,_

_Order of Merlin, First Class,_

_Grand Sorcerer,_

_Chief Warlock,_

_Supreme Mugwump, International Confederation of Wizards_

_Dear Mr. Malfoy, we are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Please find enclosed the list of all necessary books and equipment. Term begins on September 1. We await your owl by no later than July 31._

_Yours Sincerely, Minerva McGonagall, Deputy Headmistress_


	2. Chapter 2: Diagon Alley

_Chapter 2: Diagon Alley_

_July 31st, 1991_

It had taken a week for Draco's parents to make room to go to Diagon Alley. For seven days, Draco had stewed, ranted, and sulked. This, of course, had resulted in no reaction from his parents, who were not going to reward such behavior, but it made Draco feel better. He had also kicked Dobby down the stairs 23 times, who was more purple than anything else now. This morning, his robes had been ironed and his shoes polished in anticipation for the trip.

Standing before the great dining room fireplace, Draco fumed. He couldn't believe his parents! It was fifteen minutes past when his parents had promised they would leave. Didn't they have any respect for the need to prepare? He would have to practice walking confidently in his new robes. At least the sharp authoritative clicks of his shoes wouldn't change. They had taken him 3 weeks to get right. His white-blond hair was slicked effortlessly back.

Father swept into the room, looking vaguely irked, until his eyes settled on Draco. Then his expression softened. "Your mother won't be coming, unfortunately. The Minister is coming over and she must supervise the preparations." Draco nodded, but frowned. Minister Fudge was a fat little man who was polite, but condescending, to Draco. He disliked the man and loathed any visits to the manor by him.

Father took a pinch of Floo Powder from a highly polished marble urn that he had received as a gift from a warlock in Africa that he had helped into the International Confederation of Wizards. The urn was enchanted to hold much more than it looked, though Malfoy knew that this was only an Extension Charm, it was an expensive gift. Something about the spell being slippery on stone, or something unimportant like that. He threw the powder into the fireplace and stepped into the emerald green flames. Turning around, Lucius Malfoy stood, wreathed in green fire, could have been Salazar Slytherin himself. Draco felt a small thrill of terror and wonder at the same time. "Diagon Alley," Father said coolly.

Full of ambition, steeped in a great shadow of his father's legacy, Draco Malfoy followed into the flames.

Draco had never visited the Malfoy vault before, so the carts of Gringotts were completely new to him. Ever conscious of his public image, Draco attempted to keep his face aloof of the thrilling ride. His idea of speed before now had been riding his broomstick over the manor grounds, but these carts were going easily twice the speed. However, he could not quite keep the giddy smile off his face. He carefully looked away from the goblin in the cart, not wanting his lapse of composure to be seen.

For all the good it did him. He had let out an undignified squeal of terror when the dragon guarding his vaults had roared on their entry to its chamber. There was some solace to this embarrassment in the sight of the stacks and stacks of gold, gems, and silver that would one day be his. At the front of the vault, 3 neat stacks of Galleons, Sickles, and Knuts reached up to his shoulder: ready spending money.

Obviously, the first place to go was Ollivanders. He would begin practicing his wand grip as soon as possible. Image was everything, his father had often said in his spare moments, which he spent with his wife and son.

Ollivander was an old house, though Draco was pretty sure that the current wand shop owner was a half-blood. As they walked toward Ollivanders, Draco started practicing the sneer for someone of slightly lower class, but not open contempt, as a lord would to an honest, loyal peasant. Lucius noticed almost immediately, and understood in a glance what was meant. "Draco," he said quietly without looking at him, "Your quality of wand is a decisive factor in your career as a wizard. It would not do to fall in ill graces with the man who will provide you with this tool."

Draco immediately switched to a gracious smile. He didn't much like this smile, it gave people the idea that he was just another kid. But he wasn't about to doubt the word of Father.

"Ah, Lucius," said Mr. Ollivander, "your son looks just like you." He glanced at the serpent-headed cane in Father's hand. "Elm, dragon heartstring, isn't it? An old heirloom." Lucius gave a courteous nod.

Ollivander gestured towards it. "May I?"

"I'm in a hurry today, Garrick." The old man nodded, but continued to look at the cane out of the corner of his eye. "Now," said Mr. Ollivander, "Draco, wasn't it?" He tottered off down the aisle of narrow boxes. A long moment later, he returned with an armful of the boxes. A wild, disturbing grin was set in his face, like a Euphoria Elixir addict.

"Let's see here," he said eagerly, "try this one." He proffered a box. "Cedar, dragon heartstring, 11 inches. Quite rigid." Before Draco could wave it, however, he snatched it away. "Not that one," he muttered. The grin had grown only wider.

Draco was unnerved by that look on the old man's face, but he said nothing. His father had dealt with Bellatrix Lestrange as a Death Eater, and she was mad as a bat. _Grin and bear it_, he thought to himself, over and over.

On the third wand, hawthorn and unicorn tail, 10 inches, "reasonably springy," he had found the right one. The entire event had been fairly anticlimactic. Ollivander had seemed almost disappointed to have found the right wand so easily. Draco was glad to leave the shop and the odd man behind.

Next would be Madam Malkin's. This part would likely take the longest, since Draco wanted to be completely comfortable and elegant in his new robes for the year. It was all wasted on those other first years, really, but the older Slytherins would be watching for glimmers of potential, and all of them would be looking particularly closely at him, since he was the son of Lucius Malfoy. There was one first year, though, that Draco would be wanting to make an impression with.


	3. Chapter 3: The Boy Who Lived

Chapter 3: The Boy Who Lived

Draco had been in Madam Malkin's for 15 minutes already. Madam Malkin was a very shrewd, older woman, who was very familiar with the Malfoy family. She did the measurements on Malfoy herself, not leaving it to her young assistant. Her precise and careful manner was very gratifying to Draco. Her own mauve robes, though not a color a Malfoy would ever be caught in, were impeccable and stately.

The door opened with the tinkle of a bell, and Draco Malfoy looked casually over. A scrawny boy about his own age with completely ungroomed hair had entered the shop. Looming in the doorway behind him was some man who Draco suspected had giant blood. The huge man was saying something in a deep, gruff voice to the small boy. Draco wished idly that he could read lips, so he could learn things he shouldn't more easily. This skill would likely have been no hope in this case, as the man had a beard that almost completely concealed his lips.

The boy was stood on a stool next to Draco and was being measured by the young witch that was Madam Malkin's assistant. Draco put on his best _you-are-inferior-and-it-is-a-privilege-for-me-to-address-you _voice that his father did so well.

"Hello. Hogwarts too?"

"Yes," said the boy.

Draco had learned from watching his father that the best thing when meeting someone new, after already knowing their name, that is, was asking for it. Draco didn't know why, but his father did not do it without reason, so Draco did it too.

"My name's Draco Malfoy," he paused for just a second, but there was no reaction to the name. A muggleborn, most probably then. "What's your's?" he continued.

The boy looked rather self-conscious. "Harry. Harry Potter."

Draco stiffened in surprise, but quickly regained his posture. He did, however, alter his tone. This was it! He got to meet Harry Potter, the Boy Who Lived, before anyone else at school. He hadn't expected such luck, though he had known Harry would be in his year.

"This must be awfully new to you," Draco said, "being a wizard and all. I heard that they had you being raised by Muggles. I can't imagine, having no magic at all." His father always talked about the other person for a little first, if he had time.

Harry Potter looked gratified. "Magic's amazing! Muggles aren't all bad, though. The ones I live with are awful."

Draco mentally grinned. He had never met someone who you couldn't get to like you better by listening to their complaints with sympathy. "What was it like?"

As Harry went on about his cousin and something about a cupboard, Draco didn't listen very much. He nodded along and tucked little details away that might be useful later, but his thoughts were mostly elsewhere.

Draco's measurements were finished, and he strode up and down the small room, making sure that every movement was fluid. They were to his satisfaction, and it took only a moment to finalize all the stitches. He paid for them himself.

Harry Potter smiled at him as he left the room. "I'll see you at Hogwarts," he said, as the door closed. Draco, despite all his practice, could not keep the broad grin off his face.


End file.
